


Lady Love

by HallowedHeart



Category: Journey into Mystery, Thor (Comics)
Genre: Biting, Dominance, F/F, Femslash, Master/Servant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-23
Updated: 2013-01-23
Packaged: 2017-11-26 14:16:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/651303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HallowedHeart/pseuds/HallowedHeart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You live to serve all of the needs of your Lady. All of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lady Love

Loki did so love to be pampered, and she used every opportunity for it. While as a man, the Trickster had thought very highly of himself, and as a woman reveled in simple vanity as an extension of that pride. Every servant to attend the new Princess of Asgard had, eventually, been subjected to her rage, and often in the form of banishment to the worst palace duties. A too-hard pull of the brush on her hair, bath water too hot, losing a favorite pair of earrings. The Princess soon forgot about the girls that slighted her, after having moved on to the next servant she chose for her personal care.

And this time, that ‘lucky’ girl was you.

“You should feel honored,” Loki murmured as she stood over you, and bent slightly to put her mouth near your ear. Dark hair spilled over bare, pale shoulders. “Of all the Midgardians in Asgard, you shall be my first.”

She never specified what ‘first’ that was.

******

“Kneel.”

Loki stretches luxuriously on a pile of cushions and exotic furs, body languid even as her dark eyes track your every movement, no matter how small. Her smile turn coy when you lower yourself slowly to the floor. “Closer,” she says, voice sweet as honey, bare leg bouncing playfully as she crosses it over a knee.

She hums with pleasure as you do as you are commanded, entire body seeming to ripple slowly as she presses into the rich furs. When you are close she stretches out a long, pale leg to you. Loki grins as the rich silk of her skirt slips off her skin like water, exposing thigh and hip. “The red, I should think. By your hand, girl.”

A small collection of bottles sits on the rug by your hand, lacquer in a variety of rich hues. There is a deep ruby red, and Loki keeps her leg stretched out patiently until you take her slender ankle. “You tremble,” she murmurs as you adorn her with color, thick red like blood pooling over black. “Are you so afraid of your mistress.”

Before you can lie she teases the hem of your skirt up your thigh with her other foot, a slip of a tunic Loki demanded you wear when attending her. “I would have you tremble in other ways, girl,” she says, and her hand has slipped into your hair and is pulling you forward. When you gasp she breathes out a sigh, and your nose nearly bumps into her knees before she stops. Her hand stays in your hair, long black nails working at your scalp.

You can smell her, you were so close, perfume and flowered soap, and under that something heavier. Loki shifts and her skirt slides off her other thigh, barely keeping her modesty. Not that it mattered; you had seen the glorious form of your lady a dozen times at least, at least in glances. You didn’t trust yourself to look so freely upon what Loki walked around proudly displaying in her private chambers. What she was displaying now, tempting your eyes. She parts her knees slightly.

“Go on, taste your mistress. I know you crave it,” she croons, nails against your skin almost painful, wonderfully so.

Her skin is soft and yields under your touch, and when you press a hesitant kiss to the inside of her knee it is cool to the touch. It warms quickly, and Loki sighs again when you touch your tongue to her. “Come along, pet,” she urges, stroking your hair as she lounges. “Don’t be shy.”

As you kiss and lap your way up along the softness of her inner thigh, your touch growing bolder as you go, Loki yields easily as you first nudge then push her legs apart. She was bare under her dress, thick black nest of curls stark against her pale skin. The smell of her arousal is intoxicating, and sweet wetness met your tongue when you press against her.

“I knew you were eager,” Loki praises with a breathy moan, one hand plucking absently at the strings of her bodice and unlacing it easily while the other fisted in your hair, done with gentleness. She lets out a small gasp when you find her clit, arching her hips to greet your eager tongue. Bodice loosened, she slips the fabric open and palms a breast, dusky nipple hard under her fingers.

Emboldened by her moans you slide a hand up along her leg, fingers teasing at her entrance before pushing two into her. Loki lets out a little cry that becomes a sharp gasp as you twist inside her and press upwards, rubbing small firm circles. As she begins to shiver and mewl in pleasure you slip your other hand between your thighs, feeling at your own wetness as you press against yourself.

The small moan barely escapes your throat before Loki pulls hard on your hair, hissing down at you. “Did I say you could touch yourself?” she demands. “You will know pleasure when I see fit.”

Hastily your hand finds a new place, tucked under Loki’s knee, and you press your cheek to her damp inner thigh. ”Forgive me, my lady,” you murmur, eyes cast downward.

After a moment her painful grip loosens and she strokes a thumb, briefly, against your cheek and pulls you to her again. “For now. Continue,” she orders, and soon she is moaning and arching again under your ministrations. She comes quickly, with a single sharp cry, and a wash of her wetness passes over your tongue as she trembles under you.

“Come here, pet,” she beckons, and her voice is a little breathy but eyes still dark and shining with desire. You waste no time pushing yourself up, though your knees protest, and crawling into her lap. Loki grabs your waist and pulls you tight to her, a thigh pressed between your legs, and kisses you hungrily. She seems to not care that you have her on your mouth, eagerly tasting you as a lovely cool hand traces up your leg to stroke your buttock.

“Undress,” she whispers into your mouth between your gasps, and the promise of her flesh pressed to yours outweighs whatever self-conscious doubt would stop you. Pulling the tunic over your head and dropping it to the floor you are bared completely to your Princess. She never gave you undergarments to wear, after all. Loki looks immensely pleased with herself.

Her head dips and dark mouth finds your breast, closing over a taut nipple that she grazes with her teeth. “Loki!” you gasp, and she looks up at you as you wind your arms around her shoulders with eyes as green and brackish as a deep pond.

“You know who owns you, don’t you, pet,” the goddess practically purrs, and her hands slide to your hips. Her nails dig lightly into your fevered skin.

“You do,” you gasp, desperate for her to touch you again. “You own me.”

Without a word she rolls her hips and rocks her thigh between your legs, sending a jolt of pleasure through you. You need little more encouragement, desperate with need as you slide against her thigh in counter to her own languid rhythm beneath you.

Loki hums with pleasure and palms your breast again, laving at your nipple before biting hard enough to draw blood at the tender flesh beside it. When your hips stutter at the pain she gives the wound a soothing lick until you are moaning and shaking against her once more, and she bites you again. She continues the cruel adoration until your breath is ragged before dragging your mouth against hers in a kiss that tastes of blood and Loki and sex.

As you come she swallows your cry, hands fisted tightly, painfully in your hair as she drags you against her trembling and drained. Her mouth lingers on yours, sucking languidly on your swollen lip before releasing it with an obscene little sound. You whimper as she gives your lip a final, languid lick, and stretches luxuriously under you.

“Rest, my pet,” she murmurs into your ear, rubbing little circles into your damp skin with a fingertip. “We’ve the rest of the night to enjoy.”


End file.
